pass by
On closer examination, I can only be regarded as a passer-by in the wheat field. The harvest of wheat has nothing to do with me, but it is closely related to my heartbeat.
I am eager to leave this land. To be exact, I am eager to leave the countryside and live a life that has nothing to do with labor (to be exact, manual labor). This is the belief that my parents instilled in me for the first time when I just learned to be sensible. It has become the cell of my life, deeply imprinted in my heart. My parents told me: it's hard to be born in the countryside! Only one is dirty and the other is tired.
Therefore, I long for a clean blue sky in the city.
I go to work with a shovel. I held my head high and looked back at the distant blue until my neck ached. By this time, I was already in the field, and at my feet was a wheat field that aroused my parents' hatred. My parents planted their whole life's youth here. If I learn from them, I will dig up the land they have pried down one by one, which is the last thing they want to see. I put the shovel deep into the ground, and my eyes must fall into the ground. With this shovel, I vented all my accumulated anger. When my parents looked at me, I felt they smiled knowingly. At the same time, I think the earth smiled and laughed at my shallowness.
Finally, in a harvest season, I betrayed the land. It was particularly hot that summer. But I can't feel it. I just feel energetic. My father was stationed in a construction site in the city because of my expensive tuition, so I learned from my father's appearance, picked up a sickle, waved away the frivolous agitation in the depths of the wheat wave, and sucked in a lot of sunshine. At the same time, when carrying wheat, try to bow your body into half the back of the sun, so you won't feel tired when you are parallel to the sun.
My mother has always encouraged me and praised my efforts. I don't understand that my mother, who once hated the land, would show a kind and appreciative smile and eyes when watching me work on the land. Cutting wheat with my mother this year, I found that my mother's feelings for wheat are very careful, loving, sincere and persistent. Like you did to me, take good care of every grain of wheat, gently fold the straw, gently cut the meridians of the wheat with a sickle, gently tie it, gently carry it home, and gently pile it up, as if afraid that a detail would hurt the raw wheat.
It turns out that parents don't hate land, but they love wheat fields that supply people with nutrients but don't need any return. Just like themselves, they will put all their emotions into their children without reservation.
Having done this, I left this land with confidence. My parents, with a constant attitude, continue to develop their smiles in that wheat field-every harvest season, their longing will turn into a butterfly-like smile. When I passed the wheat field, only the long tail left by them after laughing was left. Quiet wheat field, breathe quietly in the same quiet sunshine!
Be a sparrow skimming over the wheat tip.
When the wheat dances in the wind, the quietest is the wheat field under the roots. Wheat will be remembered and praised. Wheat fields can only be appreciated by themselves, and people are most concerned about crops dancing in the wind in the fields.
I passed a wheat field and saw a quiet and smooth wheat wave from the window, a green wheat wave. Wheat has started heading, and hardworking bees are flying low on the shoulders of wheat. What attracts them is the fragrant grains wrapped at the bottom of the grains-their keen noses smell the flowers before the grains bear fruit. The wind blew gently and lifted the nightgown worn by wheat. The sun stretched out its affectionate hand and gently caressed the delicate face of wheat. A few birds, standing alone on the tip of the wheat, seem to be listening, staring into the distance, or talking to the wheat.
I looked into the distance, as if I heard the beating heart of wheat waves.
The quiet wheat field is completely covered by this green. The heartbeat of the wheat field is covered by the heartbeat of the wheat. Wheat smiled happily and was held high by the sacred eyes of those admirers. It doesn't want to talk anymore. The wheat field is eager to talk, eager for someone to sit down and listen, it just hears its own heartbeat. The wheat in the field has long forgotten God happily. It just makes snacks and drinks, dances and sings with the eyes of pilgrims. Who else around can hear its heartbeat? The green color of the wheat wave has covered everything for a long time.
The sparrow on the wheat tip suddenly began to move. The wheat at the foot was stunned by it and opened its eyes in surprise. The surrounding sunshine and still air were suddenly shocked by it and quickly twisted into twists. Bees are still flying low against the wheat waves. It looks for wheat fragrance and forgets everything that just happened around it. Chelsea stood up as fast as possible, flapped its wings and flew. It clings to the wheat wave and shoots itself very low. The smooth wheat wave was cut off from it by the trace of its flight, and then closed again in a short time.
The wheat field quietly looked at the surprised eyes of the wheat, and there was a slight sneer at the corners of his mouth. It looked at the trace of the sparrow flying, and it was simply stunned. I listened attentively, and vaguely heard the wheat field seem to be talking. It said: If possible, I hope to be a sparrow flying over the wheat tip.
Try to cover your head with a straw.
People who pull weeds, spray pesticides or cut wheat in the wheat field look like a group of black crows crawling in the wheat field from a distance. The height of wheat is often higher than their height, which makes them show their high black scalp.
These farmers are very pious, reaching out two hands like dead tree skins, poking their fingers into the soil to help the wheat fields catch lice. This vertical straw is more like hair growing in a wheat field. It is thick and strong. Grass growing in the ground is a parasite in the wheat field. Because of its breeding, when the wheat field itches, it often picks out the hair. Spray medicine, that's conditioner. When you cut wheat, you should also cut your hair when it grows. It is a refreshing picture to shave your head on a hot summer day.
It turns out that wheat and wheat field are integrated, and wheat is only a part of the body of wheat field. No wonder, the wheat field nourishes wheat without any return. The desire and voice for wheat in the wheat field should not be separated from wheat, just as a father longs to see his son become a dragon. The wheat field also sincerely hopes that wheat can laugh at the end, instead of just trying to be quick for a while, and forgetting the belief of growing up, so that it is carried away by the worship of others, only remembering to dance and forgetting its mission for a wheat.
The reason why wheat is a grain of wheat is not only to have a standing height, but also to have indomitable determination and courage to stand up to the wind and rain. We should always keep a humble attitude, and when the seeds are ripe, we can humbly meet the farmers' harvest. Being neither arrogant nor impetuous is the most rare noble quality of wheat.
Just like a wheat field, it always behaves easygoing. Its generosity lies in that it can manage everything and ignore nothing. When wheat needs nutrition, it provides it with nutrition, but it never considers any return. When farmers want to harvest all the wheat, it just answers with an easy-going smile. As for the growth of wheat, it just tries to cover its head with straw, and tries to push the most plump fruit to the top to make it stand out.
Last breath
Scraping the scalp of the wheat field, the cool autumn wind blows, and the wheat field can't help shivering. However, it can stand still with a smile and look at everything that has hurt it with the eyes of an old man.
After the summer harvest, all the wheat stubble left on the ground was fed into the stomach of the wheat field. This is the only reward left by a bunch of farmers to the wheat field, including most of the wheat straw, which was also transported back to their hometown by farmers. In fact, if an inch of land can be scraped out for harvesting, farmers will not even leave the last leftovers to the wheat field. In the eyes of farmers, a bunch of farmers' bumper harvests are all their own credit. It doesn't matter whether there is land or not, and farmers don't think deeply.
The wheat field is just quiet, smiling at the farmers forever with a constant attitude. It doesn't care how much the farmers give it. In its view, this crop is flattered and will feel that it should not be borne.
In fact, not only these wheat stubbles, but also the wheat leaked by farmers can't help but miss them. They are stuffed into the closed teeth of wheat fields with wheat stubble, and nourished by rain and soil nutrients, giving birth to new life. A few days later, they broke through the ground and scattered a piece of green all over the harvested wheat fields.
This is the last breath in the wheat field. When the wheat field chews out the wrong thing that has been fed into its mouth and there are full grains of wheat, spit it out and push out its scalp, so that farmers can see their new life and carry out the final harvest again. However, after all, new wheat can't satisfy farmers' desire for a bumper harvest, and farmers should reap more joy in this wheat field. So, finally, when the green almost covered the wheat field, the farmers turned over the soil again, and those who had just breathed were all forced back into the belly of the wheat field under the farmer's tenacious iron plow. The wheat field just quietly watched the farmer's bizarre behavior, sighed slightly, and silently accepted the farmer's tough order. It understands the wishes of farmers, and the next farmer is not just a mission that these disabled soldiers can accomplish.
The wheat field just waited quietly, still smiling and always silent. It failed to breathe its last breath after the summer harvest, because it could not dominate the rhythm of life and shorten the growth cycle of crops. This is its greatest regret. Just like my parents can't change my fate.
new hand
When wheat leaves the wheat field and re-enters this land in another identity, it is also a joy-the joy of new life.
Farmers have scattered their hopes for a year on the land, which contains farmers' deep beliefs. Only the wheat field can understand this belief of farmers, so it never fails to live up to farmers' expectations-strictly speaking, it is the expectation of wheat. Similarly, the expectation of the wheat field can only be understood by the wheat that comes out of the wheat field. A week after sowing, the wheat field will be green. I shaved my scalp and grew my hair again. The land constantly provides nutrients for the growth of wheat. Wheat grew so fast that it inadvertently covered the land.
When I left the wheat field and really became a passer-by in the wheat field, I still ate white rice made of this wheat flour. My parents ground their hard-earned wheat into white flour, put it in a bag and took it to the city for me, leaving the rest of the black flour for themselves to eat. My parents are like that quiet wheat field where wheat grows! When I arrived in the city, they still put their broad arms into the city to nourish my growth. When I went back to my hometown, they were busier than the distinguished guests at home, which made me very sorry. As a wheat, how can I forget all the modesty of wheat? How can we not have great respect and gratitude for the land that nourishes our growth?
Walking around the city, I suddenly found that the city is not as beautiful as I thought. A grain of wheat goes into the city, but it is deeper and heavier in the land. I am wheat, and my roots are always in the country. No matter how far I walk in the city in the future, I still long for the quiet wheat field in the country, which nourishes my growth.
After planting wheat for a lifetime, parents will eventually plant themselves like a wheat field. I and those people who came out of the wheat field like me, no matter how prominent their status is, no matter how noble their social status is, the place they look forward to most after their death is still the quiet wheat field with ancestral graves. Just like a grain of wheat sown again, buried in the ancestral grave and reunited with its ancestors, it is a new life-this is the truest happiness and joy of a person's life.